WTF Did I Just Read: Thug

WTF Did I Just Read is a regular feature (this is the first instalment) all about all the fuckery in romance & erotica fiction. I read this shit so you don’t have to.

The MC was a young ‘curvy’ (code for ‘fat’ but not really ‘fat’). She connects with the jock she had a crush on in high school. They get to the sex and he’s all you’re so beautiful & she’s all I’m such a fat virgin. And shit I couldn’t even read.

While they are having sex, he tells her he loves her, proposes to her, informs her that he is gonna put a baby in her. And somehow has a ethical non-blood diamond diamond in his fucking pocket to give her. She is so happy and says yes to everything because how could a shy fatty not?

OMFG people. Really?

Sure if you’re ok with fat shaming and a complete suspension of your brain.

But he loves her & she’s getting laid. How can that be a bad thing? Be grateful for that pity sex. Bonus points for rushing to the getting married part, because premarital sex is bad.

This story is supposed to be about a girl who has some bad shit happen to her, but she grows up to be independent and takes care of herself. Hell, she has a ‘dangerous man job’ and goes into seedy parts of town all on her own. Badass right?

No. It’s not safe for women to be out alone. She shouldn’t be wandering around with a man to protect her. To prove this point she is attacked. Which is totally surprising because we know she safely hid all her curvy bits under a trench coat. She is not a slut, y’all.

This also works as a great way for the man she is looking for to swoop in and save her. My Prince! Not that she really needed it. She totally kicked that attacker in the balls. Badass remember.

She doesn’t recognize her savior as the man she is looking for, because of beards. In real life beards work like Wonder Woman/Supergirl/Superman glasses. You put a beard on and no one knows who the fuck you are.

He recognizes her as a girl from school, because she doesn’t have a beard. Just a trench coat, that she’s stuffed her secret hotness into like a brown paper bag.

He tells her has info on the guy she is looking for and she should come back to his place. She’s smart. She hesitates. Then gets over it. It’s totally ok to go home with the stranger who just saved your ass, even if he looks like he has bodies hidden in his beard. Whenever a man rescues you, you must instantly trust him 100%.

I mean, it’s not like he’s a real stranger. Sssshhh she doesn’t know that, only us readers and Mr. Beardy know that.

They go to his creepy dumpy apartment where she realizes this is the man she’s been hired to find, one she knew in high school. Oh the embarrassment of being a fatty in front of your high school crush!

He doesn’t care though. She’s got a cute face.

She is still nervous. Maybe she should leave. Nope it’s fucking raining. When it is raining you have to stay where you are, even if you could be in danger. Women can’t get rained on. We’ll either melt like witches or multiply like Gremlins. Bad business all around.

He starts undressing for no reason other than to continue to be creepy, even though the author keeps telling us he is a nice guy. She doesn’t watch. She is a lady. Not a whore.

It turns out, he needed to change his clothes so she could be totally certain it’s highschool jock boy or some shit.

Now that she knows for sure who he is, everything is totally cool. She kicks her shoes off and sits on the bed with him (bachelor’s don’t have chairs). Everything is totally not sexual and totally safe. It’s made obvious because he is leaning back, stretching out and relaxing. Not tensely perched ready to pounce on her. Not that she’d mind, heh heh the plump little minx.

Anyway, they can’t have sex yet. He needs to save her again so she knows he is a real man and she can keep not being slutty. Que bad guys!

Then there is more rescuing, but she is unconscious to she misses it all. Her state of unconsciousness gives us all another chance to see what a good person he is though, because while he really wants to take her bra off so she can breath better, he doesn’t touch her.

Mr. Beardy is a gentleman, because girls are weird about having their clothes fucked with when they are passed out. He piles a bunch of coats on her so they are both safe from the temptation.

They are in a luxury hotel, because he is disgustingly rich. His family is evil so he’s been living as like a poor dude because he is good. His rich evil family wants him to get married and have babies so they can expand their evil empire.

He is totally against this, but he can’t let his evil brother, who makes Hitler look like a kitten, take over the family fortune. Poor guy can’t get a break. I hate it when you are forced to be horribly rich for the good of all mankind.

She wakes up happy to find herself safe and not raped. She is so glad he saved her. He is so glad her face is pretty and she’s got big boobs, but he has a past. He’s done bad things. Will he still get to see her boobs after she’s learned that he really is bad?

The suspense of this was totally killing me while I was reading.

He confesses his sins. He’s killed. It was a righteous killing, so totally forgivable. Just in case she still wasn’t sure she should have sex with him, his evil twin breaks into their room and points a gun at them. Mr. Beardy handles it like a pro, because he is. He’s trained with some Asian dude he met in the streets. He promptly calls the police, because you can do that when you are a rich white guy.

The police come. She has to explain why Evil Twin is handcuffed, because heaven forbid it is implied anywhere that she might be a little kinky. She is a badass P.I. one of the few acceptable reasons for a unwed woman to be carrying handcuffs. She is innocent and pure like all single women should be.

They finally get to sexy time.

She is nervous. It’s understandable. So she hides in the bathroom, freshening up, ditching her yucky wet panties (heavy petting has consequences like reminding you not to be a such a slut), and giving herself a pep talk. She showers, puts her clothes back on, minus the sin panties, and finally comes out of the bathroom.

They finally get to sexy time.

She lets her big girls out. Which is a polite way of saying fat lady lumps. He drops trow. She nearly faints over the size of his junk. This always makes me imagine dudes modeling whale penises. She is a virgin and giant penises are scary.

She won’t let him take her pants of, because there is no way a guy can know how pants work on fat girls. Removing tight jeans from your fat ass takes practice and skill. So she flops around on the bed like some sort of insane worm.

They finally get to the sexy time.

It’s a quick slam. Wham bam. I love you ma’am. Merry me. I’m sticking a baby in you right fucking now. Have this ethically sourced diamond I’ve been hiding in my shoe or where ever rich dudes that have been slumming it hid their diamonds.

Her body shame is instantly forgotten because a man has just validated her. He proposed so she is safe from the slut shaming she’s been working so hard to avoid. He is rich so she can stay home and be a good proper baby machine.

Lady life goals: Check!

I’m a big quitter and I kinda like it.

Removing intuitive workings from my services kindof lead to a full stop of everything. Even art things. I thought I would miss it, that I would be eager to get back to it, but that isn’t what is happening at all.

Quitting has allowed me to let go of the hustle, the stress, the constant pressure to make this some sort of money making thing.  I really thought that I would be more stressed about money. I still need it, still need a way to pay my bills, but the stress of trying to make it through art or intuitive services is gone.

Everything is gone.

Maybe I’m not an Artist or Medium or insert special title here. I was just pushing myself to make things so I could sell them. No one is buying, so why bother?

I haven’t touched my art supplies. Mainly because being a big quitter here has given me the space I needed to focus on my hand dyed yarn biz and get some things done there. I’ve really enjoyed having nothing to do but knit.

At this moment I could give away all my art supplies and not care. I could close down this site and not care. There is no passion or drive. Not that I ever had much of either of those things in my life.

It’s a strange space to be in. I don’t even feel the press of ‘shoulds’. It’s a vast empty void here.

It’s like all the years I spent trying to create some sort of biz/income for myself never existed. Like I’ve just been raising babies and knitting. I’ve never been successful biz wise, so there has been no change in my life as a result. It’s like I never did anything at all.

I’m just what I’ve always been, a crappy housewife. I say crappy not because there is anything wrong with being a housewife, I just really suck at it. Seriously. It’s amazing that my family has survived my cooking.

I was hoping that taking a break and letting some things go would open up space for some new opportunities, because maybe spending so many years focused on trying to make this biz work blinded me to better things. So far, that isn’t happening.

I’ll have to admit that I have no idea what I’m going to do. I don’t know that it matters.

And yet, there is the Creativity Coach part of me that knows that some of this is bullshit. It’s part midlife crisis, part transformation, part getting my shit together.

It’s a really weird fucking place to be.

 

 

 

The Last Time original painting

It’s hard not to look at her. She has a habit of catching your gaze and holding onto it for dear life.

I catch myself staring at her all the time.

There is an intensity and a mystery that draws me in. She has an inner strength that refuses to be dimmed.

It’s pieces like this that really urge me to keep painting. I want to create that emotional connection again and again.

I wish I could get a better picture of her. This one makes her look slightly washed out. She looks much better in real life.

She is painted on a 16×20 canvas board. No framing.

 

Shamelessly follow your desire. Your dreams depend on it.

We’ve been taught that desires are bad, selfish and shameful.

It isn’t true. Our desires, the deep ones, the ones that send shivers skittering across our skin, are the whispers of our soul song trying to call us to our brilliance.

Desire is a delicious powerful thing. It’s a compass needle pointing us in the direction of our soul calling.

I believe stripping away the negative teachings around desire turns it into a clear connection to Spirit. It makes it easier to see where we want to go, get inspired, stand in our power and create the hell out of our thing.

When we desire things that aren’t good for us, it is a direct result of having a twisty wonky understanding of desire or we are buying into some other bullshit.  It totally fucks up our ability to create lives that set our souls on fire.

Have you ever burned for someone? Imagine allowing yourself to feel that way about your dreams, about the thing you want to create, that biz you want to start or whatever is calling to you.

How fucking amazing would that be? How hard would you work to make yourself more desirable to your dream? What would you do to show your dream that you two belong together? In a non-creepy stalker or trying to be something you’re not sort of way. In a honestly self confident sort of way.

Desire feels good for a reason. It isn’t about fitting into some narrow idea of what sexy looks like. I think there is so much negativity around it because it is a powerful magick. A women secure in her desire (not the same as  society’s idea of sex appeal) can do any damned thing she wants without any twisty manipulation.

Being desirable and creating your life around your desires is standing in your power, working your magick, and letting your brilliance out into the world.

What do you deeply desire right now? For the longest? Are you looking where it’s pointing you?

 

The illusion is shattered.

I’m trying to think of the right words. Nice words. I don’t have any nice words. No calming platitudes to sooth the hurt or anger.

Many people are shocked today. Shocked to find America isn’t quite what they thought it was.

But it is just what it has always been. The illusion of it being anything else has been broken. Today we can look at it, at ourselves, with eyes wide open.

It’s unpleasant. Uncomfortable. Scary.

A single election was never going to be enough to fix things. Thinking it would was the delusion of being farther along the path than we really are.  We aren’t near the end or even the middle of this journey. We’ve barely gotten started.

The Universe has held up a mirror. Donald Trump is the reflection looking back at us.

A spell has been broken. We can’t unsee what’s been lurking in our closets. The monster is standing in the light.

I’d like to tell you that everything will be ok, but I can’t. I’d like to believe that it will, but this is a battle that not everyone will come through unscathed.

I do believe that love is stronger than hate, even if it doesn’t seem like it right now.

Those of us who don’t like what we are seeing in the Universe’s mirror, need to pull together, shelter and protect each other, and fight for change (in whatever way that means for you).

Hate won today. Love is an act of rebellion.

Rebel with hearts and eyes open.